


Bottled

by bishounen_curious



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Comfort/Angst, M/M, Pining, Self-Denial, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 14:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4103668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bishounen_curious/pseuds/bishounen_curious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa doesn't drink for a reason. He has too many secrets he doesn't want to slip out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bottled

**Author's Note:**

> i had to get this out of my system. i'm so sorry

No one would believe that Oikawa Tooru was a secretive, anxious person.

No one would believe that, especially with the way he shamelessly flirted back with the horde of girls that stalked him everywhere he went. Or the way he said inappropriately blunt things to his teammates. Or even the way his charisma naturally made others gravitate towards him, and the casual manner in which he accepted the attention without a single bat of one of his pretty, long eyelashes. 

No, he seemed the opposite, actually. Anyone would call him a social butterfly.

But that really wasn’t an accurate statement.

If anything, he was more of a character foil for everyone around him: he’d magnify their reactions, personalities, and actions. He brought out the energy from others, make them shine, and it’d be only natural that he would be caught in their glow. 

But everything him, everything truly that was Oikawa Tooru, and not the shallowly-surface public persona that everyone knew him by, was never seen.

No. No one really knew him.

And he was okay with that.

His real feelings were locked down on high alert, on house arrest until further notice. They’d never seen nor would they see the light of day. There were too many demons, too many weaknesses that would destroy everything he had going for himself. He’d worked too damn hard for everything to go to waste.

And that’s why he didn’t drink.

Honestly, alcohol was scary. He’d seen what it did to people, how it loosened lips, started fights, caused embarrassment the next day because the previous night they’d done something they immensely regretted. Secrets leaked like water through a sieve when you had a couple drinks in your system. 

He wouldn’t be caught up in that. It was too risky.

So, he blamed it on volleyball. Oikawa told his teammates he wanted to be in tip-top shape. He didn’t want himself sick, or queasy or just out of his element either at practice or a real match. The setter stayed away from it. He went to parties, of course, he simply observed rather than participated. He went, had fun, laughed, but always kept his hands occupied with a water bottle or a sports drink. 

He had too many secrets he didn’t want to slip out.

“Yo, Oikawa!”

Iwaizumi’s cheeks were flushed, and he was cradling his umpteenth can of beer as he walked a little too unsteadily towards the setter.

Like that. That was the secret he didn’t want out.

Iwaizumi had this grin of his face that alerted Oikawa that the spiker’s vision and thoughts were swimming, that all his usual ire was flushed out of his system and replaced by warm, disarming, carefree alcohol. “You won’t believe this. Kunimi just kissed Kindaichi on a dare. The best part? No one even fucking dared him. Like what?”

Oikawa shrugged his shoulders and tried to make his laugh sound convincing. This is exactly why he didn’t drink. He looked at Iwaizumi, who was pressing his giggling mouth into the cold aluminum of the beer can. If he was drinking, Oikawa easily could’ve been in Kunimi’s place. Easily.

—

Another weekend they’re at a different house, drinking different things, celebrating something different. These parties happen so often that even Oikawa, who is stone-cold sober for all of them, can’t even keep track or distinguish them in his memory.

This night they’re watching a movie. Hanamaki brought snacks, Watari brought the drinks this time, and everyone was mostly taken with the movie besides a few scattered, hushed conversations.

Oikawa had claimed the couch, and no one had argued with him. Iwaizumi had easily and thoughtlessly parked himself right next to him, as usual. The wing spiker’s cup was a disgusting golden brown color and it smelled toxic, but it was already half empty, and its effects showed on the less-stiff expression on Iwaizumi’s face. 

Iwaizumi looked so much nicer without his typical frown.

They watched the movie in relative silence. As Iwaizumi’s cup drained, and then refilled itself, he sagged deeper into the couch, spreading his limbs out and getting more comfortable. Eventually he scooted closer to Oikawa, and rested his head on the setter’s shoulder.

Oikawa’s words were clipped, stifling down emotions that were suddenly harder to bottle up and deny. Even sober. “What’re you doing?”

“Using your uncomfortable shoulder as a pillow?”

“Iwa-chan is a rude drunk.”

“I am not, shut up. Well, okay, fine, maybe I’m a little drunk, yeah, but I wanna cuddle. Let me use you as a human pillow or something.” Iwaizumi’s voice manifested as an exhalation of scandalized laughter, because even he knew he would never say these things if he was sober.

Oikawa’s pulse was picking up speed, and his throat suddenly felt dry, so he took another swig of his sports drink. It didn’t help. 

Iwaizumi noticed his friend’s discomfort, because he lifted his cup invitingly up towards the setter with a small smile. He didn’t say anything, but Oikawa knew what he was asking, imploring him to do. Oikawa shook his head, all the answer the spiker needed, and Iwaizumi sighed a bit dramatically, but dropped the invitation as soon as it was denied, and focused instead on making himself more comfortable against his childhood friend’s body.

Oikawa couldn’t get comfortable himself for the rest of the movie. 

—

It was another night, another party, and they were playing truth or dare.

Like all the other times they played, they made each other do and say stupid things. Take off your clothes. How often do you jerk off? Talk like a girl for the next twenty minutes. Who was your first kiss? Stupid things you’d expect from drunk high schoolers. 

Oikawa never cared much for this game.

He was fiddling with his cup of water as Yahaba unwillingly leaned down to kiss the left side of Matsukawa’s bare ass. A dare of course. Oikawa forgot who dared him to do it, but Yahaba did it anyway.

Most of the team whooped obnoxiously with laughter, a couple of whistles and rude catcalls adding to the noise. Oikawa rolled his eyes. Across the circle, Iwaizumi just took another gulp of his beer. He didn’t seem too interested in this game, either. 

“Alright, who’s next?”

“Me, idiot!” Yahaba’s face was still red. His expression was twisted up, and it was clear he was looking for revenge.

“Pick your victim!”

Yahaba’s eyes scanned the circle for an indecisive moment before they landed on the setter.

“Oikawa! Truth or dare?”

Great, just great. 

Oikawa met the other’s challenging look head on, but he couldn’t help but look bored. This game wasn’t fun, and all of them knew he didn’t like it. He never picked truth, because there was just too much that he’d rather never admit aloud (and Oikawa hated lying, because it made him feel slimy). So of course he picked dare. He always did. Most of the guys always gave him something stupid to do, because they were too afraid of the consequences if they tried to make him do something humiliating. Twenty minutes ago, when he was picked last, he was dared to make everyone the next round of drinks. Harmless, stupid things.

But Yahaba looked a little too wasted, and was a little too mad about his last dare. He blurted out, unceremoniously, “I dare you to take a vodka shot.”

All the boys looked frightened to their cores, and snapped their attention to Oikawa. The whole team knew he didn’t drink, and were pretty respectful of his decision not too. This was the first time someone had dared him to do this, and he simply frowned and said, hoping to put an end to this, “No.”

“C’mon, it’s almost the end of the year! One shot isn’t gonna mess you up.” Yahaba complained, not taking no for an answer.

The rest of the team was still scarily quiet.

“I said I’ll pass.”

“Just do it.”

“No.”

“Hey, cut it out.” Iwaizumi interrupted with a glare. “He said he won’t do it. Give him a different dare.”

“But, Iwaizumi…”

“He said no. Respect your captain’s choice.”

Yahaba swallowed heavily, and mumbled a defeated “I dare you to finish your water.”

Oikawa did so in a heartbeat, because he didn’t want to have Iwaizumi staring at him like that. 

—

The year was almost over, one of the last few parties. 

They were all just hanging out. Talking and hovering around one of the first-year’s basements, drinking and socializing and just having a good time while music blasted through a smallish set of speakers. 

Oikawa didn’t have a drink. His empty hands were twitching, flexing, nervous. He was just leaning against the wall, chatting with a barely tipsy Iwa-chan about their last practice. The spiker was saying something about candidates for next year’s team captain, but Oikawa was only half listening. 

He was eying the plastic cup in the spiker’s hand, lips pursed. That’s right, the year was almost over. College, soon. Moving away. Leaving everyone behind.

Oikawa chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. He’d been using less and less effort and energy swallowing his emotions lately. He was forcing himself to let go of this useless crush, because soon it would be pointless, soon it would be even more impossible than it already was. And he felt pretty good about his level of control. He could keep the secrets down, the floodgates locked tightly. He had years of practice, after all.

Plus, he had always been curious what it felt like to be drunk.

His focus flicked back up to Iwaizumi, who was still weighing the pros and cons of each player in a conversation he hadn’t quite yet figured out was one-sided.

“Iwa-chan.” The spiker’s stopped mid sentence and cocked his head. “Make me a drink.”

Iwaizumi raised his brow, incredulous and just a bit wary, because it was such a simple, off-topic and uncharacteristic request. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want to be the only lightweight at parties. And I don’t wanna get made fun of during my first weekend of college.” It was an easy half-truth to deliver. Especially if he pouted, and crossed his arms defiantly.

The spiker laughed, easily buying it. “That’s not the reason you’re gonna get made fun of, I can tell you that much.”

“Shut up. Just do it before I change my mind.”

That’s all it took for Iwaizumi to inconspicuously go off to the other end of the room to concoct his friend his first drink.

Oikawa’s stomach shouldn’t have been that squirmy. He swallowed some air and tried to calm himself. Everything would be fine. One drink wasn’t going to ruin him, he attempted to reassure himself.

Iwaizumi was back in hardly any time, and was grinning ear to ear and offered the setter a cup almost filled to the brim with dark red liquid. Oikawa sniffed it experimentally. 

“Vodka cranberry. I feel like its your drink.” Iwaizumi was still grinning, and Oikawa giggled.

“If you say so.” He lifted it up to his mouth, but paused, shooting the other a look. “Oh, and if this is repulsive I’m dumping it on your head.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, but still smiled brightly. It was the kind of smile that boosted confidence. Especially the setter's.

Oikawa took a sip. Sweet, but not overwhelmingly so. Dry aftertaste, and just a tad bitter. It was good, really good.

His face must have worn his surprise blatantly because Iwaizumi shook his fist victoriously with a quiet celebratory _yes!_ to himself before resting it on Oikawa’s shoulder. “See what you’ve been missing?”

“I’ve only had one sip, chill.”

“Hey,” Iwaizumi’s grin went up a notch and was practically beaming in the dim light of the basement, “I’m just glad you’re a delinquent like the rest of us, now.”

Oikawa snorted. 

They didn’t stray from their spot against the wall, just chatting and emptying their cups with time. The rest of the team didn’t seem to notice that it wasn’t water in their captain’s cup, and he was more than satisfied by that oversight. He didn’t want all the attention suddenly on him. On the court, he could handle pressure. This though? Entirely different, and he wasn’t comfortable taking any risks he didn’t need to.

For the longest time, Oikawa didn’t feel anything different. The room wasn’t spinning, he wasn’t slurring his words, or wasn’t having any trouble focusing on the conversation at hand. None of the stereotypical, usual symptoms. His stomach felt a little warm though, but pleasant, but that was really it. He felt good. Secure.

Iwaizumi had refilled both of their cups at some point, and the pair continued to down them casually. Even so, Oikawa still didn’t feel weird. He was laughing a lot at Iwaizumi’s jokes, but they were funny, and he would have laughed at them any other time. He just felt so happy. So warm, and giddy. He had no idea why he’d had so much anxiety over this, had taken so many precautions to keep himself from letting loose and having fun with his teammates.

He hadn’t felt this open, this limitless in a while. 

The drink tasted so good, and he finished his a lot sooner than the spiker. He frowned, and batted his eyelashes, gesturing with his empty cup. 

Iwaizumi cocked his brow. “You feeling okay?”

“I don’t even feel drunk. Are you even putting any vodka in this? It tastes like juice.”

“No, believe me, I am.” 

“Maybe you’re too drunk to make me a proper drink.”

“Maybe, shut up.”

Oikawa stuck out his tongue and moved to flick the other’s forehead, but for a moment the room wasn’t stationary and the floor seemed to move out from under his feet, and Oikawa stumbled just a bit, just losing his balance for barely a second. Iwaizumi’s hand went out immediately to steady him, and he looked self righteous.

“I’m fine.” And Oikawa felt fine, too. He didn’t feel sloppy or not in control of himself. He could still keep everything together, everything that needed to be choked down choked down, and he wanted to remain this warm and feel this good forever. “Please.”

Iwaizumi relented, and Oikawa cheered.

When he came back, he didn’t waste anytime gulping the third vodka cranberry down. Iwaizumi’s hand was back on his shoulder, but he wasn’t steadying him. He was rubbing it this time, soothing him. Oikawa removed the cup from his mouth and tried to say something but Iwaizumi held up a hand, and said, voice surprisingly low and caring, a rare tone for the spiker, “If you start to feel weird or sick or need anything, just tell me.”

The setter nodded obediently. There wasn’t really anything else he could say to that.

Plus, he had everything he needed right now.

Minutes seemed to pass quickly. Suddenly it was past midnight, and last time Oikawa checked his phone he could have sworn it was only a little after ten. 

But, it was fine.

After that third drink though, he definitely could feel it. Everything was swimming, and warm and so fucking hysterical. He felt on top of the world, and Iwaizumi knew it. 

And Oikawa wasn’t a mess, because Iwaizumi was still there with him, laughing with and teasing him, still drinking, still enjoying himself like everybody else. 

It was everything he could’ve wanted. 

But he could always want more.

Oikawa was selfish like that.

And there so many things he wanted.

Iwaizumi’s smile could have been aimed more in his direction. Iwaizumi could have responded more strongly to his jokes. He could have touched his shoulder more, caressing it and smoothing down along his bicep or sinking down along his clavicle or massage into his neck. Yeah, that would be nice.

He wanted just more of Iwaizumi.

Did alcohol make you want people more? Crave affection and touch and intimacy, just yearning to be curled into and locked down and just had?

Oikawa inhaled through his nose, exhaled through his mouth. Then, took another drink.

Yeah, maybe.

That warmth was sitting low in his tummy and it was buzzing, so persistent and needy and wow, it was kinda hot in this basement. 

_I should just kiss him._

It was just a thought, fleeting. But it was enough for Oikawa to stop himself from killing the rest of his drink. No. He couldn’t do that.

But he wanted to. 

And Iwaizumi seemed just as drunk as he was. Probably. He probably felt the same way, a little too hot and needy. Hadn’t they cuddled once? Iwaizumi’s had, awhile ago, snuggled his face into the setter’s sober body, and the heat that radiated through his clothes had made Oikawa’s head spin. 

This was the same thing, the same want.

Friendly touching. Using each other to satisfy minor needs. That’s what friends did, right? It wasn’t weird at all.

Oikawa inched closer to the spiker and hummed, his movements just a little woozy. Iwaizumi looked alarmed, but Oikawa shushed him. Hunching down, just only a little bit because he was taller than the spiker, he leaned his head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. Iwaizumi chuckled, and took another drink. He understood.

Oikawa liked this. It was nice.

But he was selfish.

And Oikawa continued to squirm, trying to get comfy, Iwaizumi snickered and called him a _worm, squirmy wormy Oikawa_ and both of them were clutching at each other, trying to stand upright, only just slightly spilling their drinks onto the floor.

And Oikawa’s nose was so close to being into the crook of the spiker’s neck. He could smell him. The faintest whiff of that cologne that he started wearing at the end of junior high. A bit of sweat, because Iwa-chan was alive and drunk and warm and it smelled like everything that Oikawa wanted to be smothered by. And maybe heat, he swore he could smell the heat emanating out of his pores, and it made Oikawa inch even closer because he wanted to taste it -

\- and so he did. 

His mouth was moving wetly against that tan, delicious hot skin. It tasted better than it smelled. Iwaizumi stiffened, but Oikawa wasn’t paying attention because his one-track mind was zeroed in on _it’s almost a kiss_ and then it was, and he was covering Iwaizumi’s neck with them and Oikawa felt like things were falling into place.

He felt good.

Until Iwaizumi was shoving him away with an expression that wasn’t a smile.

“Stop.”

Oikawa could only stare.

“Just… don’t do that.” Iwaizumi’s body language was all wrong. He was tense, closing himself off, was he stepping away? “Just… no.”

Words weren’t coming to his brain. It was short-circuiting and all he could see was Iwaizumi’s face, how uncomfortable he looked, how not happy he was. He must have dropped his drink, he hadn’t even realized, because both of his hands were covering his mouth and nose now and he was trying to stop himself from making any noise. 

No, no, no.

How could years of burying this come undone in one night?

This was what he had always been afraid of.

He knew he was crying, and he could taste the panic attack on the back of his tongue. He needed to leave.

And he was moving fast, more coordinated and electrified than before, and he was heading towards the stairs up and away from the noise and the crowd. But Iwaizumi’s hand reached out, and pulled his shoulder back, and Oikawa was wide-eyed and scared and he couldn’t deal with what was about to come out of the spiker’s mouth.

“You’re drunk.” Iwaizumi said, voice soft, almost pleading.

Oikawa’s breathing was getting worse.

Iwaizumi tried to reason with him, voice still the same. “I don’t want this to be -“

But before he could say anything else Oikawa ripped himself out of the other’s grasp and charged again towards the stairs, feeling the tears hotter on his skin. He couldn’t have the spiker say how much he didn’t want this, how stupid this was. He needed to be alone, to crumble, to get everything out of him because no amount of bottling could make things right.

He needed to pour it all out and start from scratch.

Oikawa stumbled around the first floor of the empty house, searching desperately for a door. After what seemed like years, he finally located it and he exited into the backyard, almost tripping over his own legs. When he was alone, the crickets chirping and the air dark and lonely, he finally let himself go. He collapsed onto the ground, his back against the house, and just looked up at the starless sky, raking his fingernails down his biceps, curling his knees into him, trying to steady himself and cope with his own failure.

He’d be gone soon. Away from this town, away from this school, away from Iwaizumi and that smile of his. He tried to picture himself in the white noise of his mind, happy at a new school, playing volleyball with a new team, studying late at night, having parties in his dorm room, living a life that he didn’t have yet.

But the only images were Iwaizmi’s face and the only sound the _no_ that left his mouth and it was like a broken record in his brain, stuck and skipping for eternity on a single scratch, because he could only hear and see that one moment no matter how hard he tried not to. Oikawa tightened his grip on himself and tensed his whole body and tried to force himself to move on.

It didn’t work. 

It felt like his lungs had collapsed inside his ribs.

The door to the inside of the house suddenly flew open, banging into the outside wall of the house, and Iwaizumi was staring at him, horrified and wide-eyed and dumbstruck because he’d only seen Oikawa breakdown once before, in middle school after he had that fight with Kageyama about the stupid volleyball serve. But it hadn’t been this bad.

This was on an entirely different level.

Iwaizumi still just stared at him, and Oikawa tried to hide in himself.

It didn’t work, obviously. Stupid stupid stupid.

He didn’t hear the spiker walk over. His ears were ringing and his breathing was too loud and erratic, and when Iwaizumi crouched down in front of him, he closed his eyes, choked on a sob, and buried his fingernails into his skin.

“I’m taking you home.”

Oikawa violently shook his head.

“Tooru, please.”

He shook his head harder.

“Can you let me talk?” Iwaizumi’s words weren’t harsh or impatient. They were simple, just a gentle question. Oikawa shuddered and hiccuped. But he didn’t shake his head this time.

Iwaizumi continued just as carefully. “We both drank too much.”

Oikawa was sure he was making his skin raw through his clothes. 

“And I…” Iwaizumi pushed on, “I don’t know, don’t want to do anything like that. Right now.”

Oikawa’s throat ached with the next sob that left him.

“Right now.” Iwaizumi repeated, persistent. “I just, I don’t want us to be awkward tomorrow if something happened. Does that make sense?”

After a moment, the setter found it in himself to nod.

“Okay, good.” Iwaizumi was quiet for a moment, and Oikawa’s eyes were still shut tight. Then, he heard, “Can I touch your hair?”

Oikawa just barely opened his eyes. He peered at Iwaizumi through his teary eyelids and lashes, and everything shuddered in him. Oikawa wanted to say no, because he’d only be making this harder for himself to let go, to squash this and grind it to dust, but he found himself nodding again.

Because he was so fucking selfish.

Iwaizumi’s fingers brushed gingerly through his hair, like he was walking his fingers on thin ice. And it felt good. Oikawa sucked in quick breaths, and attempted to narrow in on the motion. Iwaizumi’s hand was repetitive and it made it easy to focus on, and it was helping Oikawa from spiraling down deeper into his own violent emotional instability.

Iwaizumi started to talk again, his tone still careful but honest. “If I drink too much, I want to make out with people, too.”

Oikawa stiffened. He clenched his teeth, his throat spasming out a pathetic noise.

“I don’t know why, but it does.”

He didn’t know what to make of this. He didn’t want to hear it, either.

“I’ve never actually, y’know, acted on it though. I almost did, once, awhile ago, but I thought better of it. Anyway,” Iwaizumi began lightly scratching his scalp, and Oikawa’s brain registered that it felt nice, “what I’m trying to say is that, at least for me, it’s not my thing. Hooking up with people just because I’m drunk and horny and feel like it.”

Oikawa was listening to his words, staring only at his own bent knees.

“I’ve never dated anyone. You know that. And it’s because I want it to be someone I really care about. I want to feel things about them when I’m drunk and sober. I guess I’m lame like that, but it’s how I am. So that’s why I stopped you before.”

Oikawa’s fingers flexed into his skin. He knew what was coming, but it didn’t make it any less painful.

“It’s not because I was grossed out. It’s because I don’t want to do anything if it’s meaningless.”

Oikawa blinked his watery eyes. Maybe he didn’t know.

“I know how I feel,” Iwaizumi’s words slowed down, his mouth trying not to slur the syllables, “right now and when I’m not like this. I just don’t know how you feel.”

Oikawa opened his mouth to say something, but it was just a wheeze of air and an incoherent noise. Iwaizumi shushed him softly, and continued to move his fingers through his probably now-messy hair, but Oikawa for once didn’t care about that.

“I still want to take you back home.” Iwaizumi’s face was so seriously gentle, it was almost funny. “I want you to drink some water and go to sleep.”

Oikawa nodded again.

“And in the morning…” Iwaizumi for the first time looked away, broke the eye contact. Oikawa’s hands quivered, and then his body moved suddenly, and he latched onto the wrist that wasn’t going through his hair. He forced Iwaizumi to look at him. “And in the morning,” the spiker repeated, words quiet and honest but wavering now, “you still want to do what you did to me before, you can call me.”

They were locked in each other’s gazes. Oikawa gulped down some dry air, and squeezed his hand around the spiker’s wrist. Iwaizumi took in a breath himself and his fingers tightened their grip on Oikawa’s hair.

“Don’t worry, nobody saw any of this. No one knows. About the drinks, or this.” He offered, breaking the silence. Oikawa nodded again, thankful and relieved and happy that Iwaizumi would even check something like that. Especially when he was this drunk.

They were both silent for a while, still as stone. Oikawa liked listening to Iwaizumi breathe, it was slightly labored and noisy, but his expression was relaxed and devoid of tension. That calm was seeping into him and making the anxiety start to melt out of his nerves.

“Are you feeling better?” The spiker asked, after what seemed like hours.

Oikawa shrugged, because honestly, he wasn’t sure. He was still feeling the alcohol and the winding down anxiety attack, and he wouldn’t let the butterflies in his stomach make him jump to conclusions or assumptions or start feeling things that he didn’t have the right to feel.

“I’m gonna get you some water. And then I’m calling up a friend to drive us home.”

He nodded again, and he opened his mouth, and this time, managed to say, voice gravely with disuse and emotion, “Thanks.”

“Mhm.” Iwaizumi smiled, and Oikawa couldn’t stop that smile from making his chest flutter.

The crickets were the only noise for the moment following. Iwaizumi was still stroking through his hair, and Oikawa was leaning into it and letting his eyelids sink to the top of his cheeks, because the warmth he had felt was flooding back into his bones. He still felt drunk, and it was really late and he was exhausted.

“You’re such an ugly crier.” Iwaizumi teased, lightly, and Oikawa gasped out a laugh.

“Iwa-chan.” He grabbed the setter’s wrist again, and smiled. He knew how weak his grip was and how gross he looked, but Iwaizumi was returning the emotion just as genuinely. Maybe everything was okay.

He couldn’t wait until the morning. He had a lot to say to this boy.

He couldn’t help but pray that Iwaizumi had a lot to say to him, too.

However, Oikawa felt confident that with the way the spiker kept biting his lip in the silence, opening his mouth and immediately snapping it shut with blatant restrain that maybe Iwa-chan had some bottled up things that he couldn’t wait to pour out, too.

**Author's Note:**

> i hate myself, what else is new
> 
> also, i want to apologize to vodka cranberrys everywhere for making them cause so much pain
> 
> http://bishounen-curious.tumblr.com


End file.
